An Innuendo Too Many
by blogyourfeelings
Summary: Molly gets sick of all the gang making sexual jokes and innuendos at her and Sherlock and decides to take action.


Its a warm summer evening in which Sherlock has snatched Molly from her evening plans of a nice dinner and cool cider at the pub with her friends, to a crime scene in a park in East London.

They're still bickering when they get there, much to Greg's amusement.

Molly hovers over the victim, 21 year old male, trying to get a read on the probable cause of death. She huffs as her muscles strain at the angle she's bent at. From behind her, Greg is pretending not to notice how the skirt riding up allows him to see more of the pathologist's creamy white skin.

"Really Molly?" Sherlock scowls from the other side of the body. He, for good measure, shoots a blazing look at the detective inspector. " That position looks ridiculous."

"Well if someone had given me time to get changed, I wouldnt need to worry about getting blood on my new skirt," Molly grits out, standing up and smoothing out said skirt.

She tilts her chin up in defiance and glares at the consulting detective. He responds in kind, his eyes glinting in the summer light.

"Are you two just stand there and eye fuck each other all day? Greg asks bluntly, his mischievous brown eyes hidden by sunglasses. "Or is someone going to tell me what killed this man?"

John and Mary drop in on Baker Steer on a Saturday afternoon on their way back from a successful day shopping in Oxford Street.

They expect to find Sherlock in the midst of some experiment that will drive his landlady batty or researching god knows what on the vast laptop collection he has. Instead they find Molly and Sherlock at his kitchen table- empty of its usual dangerous chemicals and equipment- with only a solitary laptop that's decorated with one too many cat stickers to belong to Sherlock.

"Hope we're not interupting anything?" Mary greets softly, but still manages to evoke a stunned jerk from Molly, who was totally engrossed in the screen in front of her.

Molly laughs shakily in return. "Oh hello! Sherlock's just helping me with a paper I'm writing."

"Its about fungal infections." Sherlock informs them with a smile.

"Sounds delightful." John quips.

"Its a pain in the arse," Molly complains, rubbing her temples to soothe her pounding head. "I need a glass of wine. Or twelve."

Mary hummed in response. "That won't help a sore head. What you really need, Molly..." Mary laughs good naturedly. The two women had gotten very close over the past few months and could always share light hearted banter. "Is a good shag."

"That will hardly help the quality of a medical paper," Sherlock replies, too quickly, and with a little too much emphasis on sarcasm to appear unaffected by Mary's words.

"Maybe you should test that theory out Sherlock?" Mary shoots back with a lecharious wink.

The way Shelock sputtered and Molly blushed has the couple giggling for weeks.

Mrs Hudson tries to have touch more subtlety. Its not in her nature though, because subtlety was rarely required of her as an exotic dancer and cartel member. But at least she tries.

She invites Molly round for tea and biscuits when she knows Sherlock's bored and without a case. Sherlock almost always lures her upstairs on pretense of an experiment or case.

His land lady hoped one say she'd go up and see them cuddled up on the couch or catch them having a cheeky snog in the kitchen. To her disappointment, nothing of the sort every happens.

Martha Hudson concludes a more direct approach is needed. She drops tiny comments to Sherlock about Molly, sometimes even in the young pathologist's presence.

"That dress looks lovely, dear," Mrs Hudson comments to Molly when she's in Baker Street. The three of them are waiting in the flat for the taxi to take them to Mary's birthday dinner.

She turns to her tenant, who's eyes are intent on his phone screen. "Isn't Mollys dress lovely, Sherlock?"

Sherlock gaze flicks back to Molly, who's peering out onto Baker Street for the taxi she's booked, which already late. His eyes are settle on her for just a second but it's enough to compound what he had already deduced. The dress was lovely.

Sherlock eyes return to his phone. Molly can't see how he swallows before he replies, but Mrs Hudson does. "Yes. Lovely." His voice sounds far away but doesn't have the cold, sarcastic edge he was hoping for.

"My husband used to love me wearing dresses like that," Mrs Hudson offers with a laugh. She looks between Sherlock and Molly and grins wickedly. "Easy access, if you know what I mean?"

Sherlock looks frozen in horror in his seat. Molly cheeks are nearly the same shade of red as her pretty dress.

"Taxi's here," Molly squeaks.

Every since the awkward incident in 221B with his landlady, Sherlock has been distant from Molly.

He isn't rude or pick fights, but Molly's phone doesn't beep with their regular texts inviting her to his flat and he doesn't make much effort to converse with her when he visits the morgue.

There is a unspoken tenision between them though and its grows more palpable as weeks drag on. Even Sally Donovan, who rarely observes them together, picks up on it.

The policewoman and Sherlock drop by the hospital under Lestrade's instruction to take a look at a supsicious suicide.

Molly has had the day from hell. She's feeling exhausted and bit nauseous from a bug she's certain came from her male colleague who's been off all week. This has left her with twice the workload and a modicum of her usual enthusiasm.

"Molly, we need to see the body of Henry Shields," Sherlock demands. Molly knows her tolerance levels are shot but tries to keep up a calm veneer. She's gives them both a signal to allow her a minute to finish her paperwork.

Sherlock can't even allow her that, his body humming with dissatification at having to wait. "Time is of essence, Molly-"

She doesn't let him finish his sentence because her wilting patience is snapped. "Give me a minute, Sherlock!"

Sally take a couple of looks between the quarrelling pair and sighs. "Look, if this is some lovers tiff, can you just shag and get over it so we can see this body?"

Molly's weary shoulders fall at the comment and can't find it in her to bite back at the policewoman. She's wipes a hand over her clammy forehead. The sooner this day is over, the better.

She shows them to the body without a word, praying Sherlock will be quick and she can get back some blessed peace.

"Nothing suspicious," Sherlock states when his eyes finally leave the body and fall on Sally. He oddly doesn't sound disappointed by this. "You're assistance is no longer required, Sergeant."

His intense gaze shifts to Molly once Donovan leaves, who takes the time to shoot Molly a sympathetic smile and a muttered goodbye. Sherlock looks troubled as he gives her a once over. "You are clearly unwell. I'll take you back to your flat. You need sleep."

Molly goes to protest and feels a new wave of light-headedness. She could be stubborn and refuse him, but the call of nice cup of tea and her bed is too tempting.

Sally watches them depart from the hospital from her car, sipping down some coffee to get her through the rest of her shift. While they're waiting on the taxi, Sherlock slips a comforting arm around Molly's shoulder. The pathologist leans into his embrace, closing her eyes in relief and Sally watches her mumble what she is sure is an expression of thanks.

Sally fights the urge to roll her eyes in exasperation. _**Even the smartest people**_, she thinks as she watches their black cab fades into the distance, _**are fools in love.**_

Molly Hooper is tolerable woman, but if she hears one more innuendo or joke about her and Sherlock she will _**scream.**_

She hears it at work from colleagues and whispering students. At Bakers Street she has to stop herself choking on a tea everytime Mrs Hudson regals her with tales of her former promusicuty and says things like 'you're not young and flexible forever, dear '. Greg just smirks everytime he spots Molly and Sherlock together, or laughs along with John when Mary makes a joke about Molly and Sherlock with a heavy sexual overtone. It's driving her crazy.

Inspirations as how to get them back hits on cab on its way to Baker Street. The whole gang is headed there for some pre-drinks before the annual big St Barts Christmas party that she manages to wrangle them tickets for. They decide to use this as their Christmas gathering because Mary and John are travelling North to his family and Greg is jetting off to Spain for a Christmas in the sun with his wife.

She's grinning as she clambers up the stairs of 221B in her heels. The shoes are kicked off before Sherlock can even greet her, along with the festive red coat she dons over her dress. She sets her plan in motion, purposefully strewing them on floor in livingroom and Sherlock can only watch in confusion as she heads for his bedroom, the soft curls of her hair bouncing with the skirt of her little white dress.

She stomps back, armed with one of his maroon dress shirts balled up in her hands and tosses it in the hallway to his bedroom.

"Molly, what are you doing?" Sherlock questions as he walks into the kitchen, unable to come with a logical explanation.

Her pursed lips give nothing away, neither do the peering eyes which look past him to the flung away jacket and shoes and back down to the shirt. She sighs.

"Moll-" Sherlock chokes on the word because during the course of it, she watches his pathologist friend reach under her dress and wiggle out of a tiny pair of pink pants.

She flings them infront of her and Sherlock attempts not the gape at the fact that Molly Hooper is _**knicker-less**_ in _**his**_ flat. Molly, still with no explanation to her behaviour, marches over to window to survey the street.

"Shit shit shit, they're coming," Molly blurts out as she's observes Greg, John and Mary alighting from the cab outside. She dances back to the kitchen and grabs Sherlock by the arm. The consulting detective tries not to think of how if the dress bounced a couple inches higher, he would get a wonderful view of Molly's backside.

"I'm so sick of the sex jokes," Molly explains as she drags Sherlock into his bedroom, slamming the door shut. She turns from him and endaveours to slam his bed into the wall, but its a useless effort, as its far too heavy for her to maneuverer. Sherlock can't move to help her because he's frozen in the spot by the deliberately moan she makes as she does it.

"We're going to make them think we're shagging," She instructs. "And then they'll all shut up about it."

Sherlock is about to point out the flaws in the proposed plan when Mrs Hudsons voice rings out from the livingroom. "Sherlock, everyone's here!"

"Quick, make sex noises!" Molly declares, making another delightful moaning sound. Sherlock is dumbstruck by it and Molly has to brings her fist to impact his gut to evoke the groaning that is required.

She beams at him as moves towards his bed, gleaming white teeth pronounced by an appealing shade of pink lipstick. She's enjoying this, he deduces. It's the same smile she gets when she before an exciting experiment, or at the conclusion of a thrilling case or when she finds one of her own morbid jokes funny.

He could blame on the way she says his name as she dramatically fall onto the bed, all breathy and filled with lust that he's not sure is fake. Or the way the ethereal white dress and her hair cascading across his sheets like a halo making her look like an angel. But, its the smile, the one he's seen a hundred times, the one he hopes he can witness again and again.

He stalks forward, stealing whatever she's planning on saying with his mouth. Molly mewls in surprise, but pushes back up off the bed to return the kiss. Sherlock's hands tilt her head so he can taste her, evoking real, enthusiastic groans from both parties.

Sherlock forgets the build up to this as they fall back on to bed, the fact their friends are outside the door, listening in disbelief. Christ, he thinks Molly could be capable of making him fail to remember his own name, if she wasn't crying it out as he places hot, open-mouthed kisses on her neck.

One large hand trails down her waist, to slip under her where Sherlock know there's no barriers, just bare unadulterated skin and he want to touch every inch of her, to taste-

Small hands that were tugging at his hair, push at his shoulders, forcing him to stand and put distance between them.

"What are we doing?" Molly breaths out, her voice showing the signs of her arousal.

"I though we were going to have sex?" Sherlock replies, humour evident in his voice, one eyebrow raised in flirtation.

"Not real sex Sherlock, our friends are right outside!" Molly hisses as she springs off the bed, slapping away the hands that were attempting to return to her waist.

"But it was okay to pretend to have sex with everyone right outside?" Sherlock questions, genuinely confused by the logic of the woman in front of him.

"You two are talking far too much to actually be doing anything in there!" A female voice, a certain blonde, shouts through the door.

Sherlock decides to solve one half of the current problem, opening and poking his head out the door. Mary is closest to the door, armed with a grin larger than Baker Street. They all seem to have taken in the scene, the shirt, which his landlady is gripping in her hands, the pants, the moaning. Sherlock wishes Molly would come over and see their faces, because their reactions are exactly what she would want.

Sherlock gets straight to the point. "All of you have to leave. Molly and I would like some privacy."

John looks in bewilderment from the shirt in Mrs Hudson hand's, back to Sherlock and shakes his head. "Is this a joke?"

"Despite all of your attempts to make it so," Sherlock replies, his glare falling pointedly on every single person in front of him. His voice softens, and his eyes turn back to Molly in pursuit of showing he's serious. "My romantic and sexual interest in Molly is not a joke."

Molly's reaction to his comment is the only one he cares to observe. Brown eyes fall to the floor in thought, cheeks reddened by his admission. Sherlock's keen eyes spot the tiny twitch of her lips before the eyes lift back up to him, sparkling and smiling. She shortens the distance between them, reaching out a hand to clasp his.

He turns back to all his friends and is annoyed none are in a hurry to leave. Mary's craning her neck to try and get a look at Molly's reaction, Mrs Hudson looks positively gleeful.

"Aren't you all supposed to be leaving?" Sherlock probes.

Greg and John take that as a cue to disappear into the kitchen to raid the fridge of its beer cans to drink in the taxi on the way to the party. Mrs Hudson pops downstairs to get her coat and Sherlock can hear her cackling all the way down to her flat. Mary, annoyingly, stays in the same spot.

"You're still coming to the party, you two!" Mary insists, but any sternness in her instruction is erased by her gleaming eyes.

Molly decides to intercede, wedging herself between the small gap Sherlock has left between himself and the door. "Give us a couple of hours, we'll meet you there."

Mary seems placated by her friend's assurances. "Okay," She says, giving them a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows. She leaves them, dragging Greg and John out the door, shouting out her goodbye from the door. "Have fun!"

Molly doesn't allow her blonde haired pal the last word for once, bellowing a reply back. "Oh, we will!" She grins, winking saucily at Sherlock before pulling him down for another searing kiss.


End file.
